A Little Twisted
by lauralizzie07
Summary: JoDean. A series of one shots written for the 30kisses fanfic challenge on LiveJournal. Updated! Chapter 11: Waging War
1. A Chicakdee Sighting

A Chickadee Sighting  
Theme: #1: "Look over here"  
Rating/Warnings: Teen, due to minor sexiness.  
Summary: Sam found them half an hour later, lip-locked on a park bench like a couple of teenagers.

* * *

Their first kiss wasn't exactly glamorous, but Jo had given up the idea of glamour long ago. Their first kiss was accidental—Dean's lips mashed against Jo's face, half on her mouth, half on her cheek. He tripped, he claimed, and fell on her mouth.

She just raised one eyebrow the way he had taught her.

It was all her fault, he insisted. She was the one to gasp and point and call "Look! Look over here!" She told him that she was pointing to a little bird—a chickadee, if she wasn't mistaken, which was a rare sight in Colorado. He said he thought she was pointing to a demon.

She rolled her eyes and asked him what demon would be wandering around at noon in a crowded park?

He told her if she insisted on being difficult then he wouldn't take her on any jobs at all.

She informed him that he could _try _to leave her behind and see how far that got him. She took a deep breath, gearing up for a fight, but he cut her off with another kiss.

Their first kiss may have been a minor disaster, but their second was like something out of her secret nighttime fantasies. The kiss wasn't gentle like she had imagined. It was rough and harsh and demanded a response. Dean's kiss didn't take "no" for an answer, but that was fine with Jo because "no" had never been an option.

She remembered her first impression of him. She thought he was sweet and not too bright, but not seedy like the other hunters who rolled through the doors of her mother's saloon. She learned later that he was just as seedy as the other men, but that didn't stop her from dreaming about pulling him close by the collar of his leather jacket and devouring his mouth like a chocolate bar.

Sam found them half an hour later, lip-locked on a park bench like a couple of teenagers. He cleared his throat several times, but his brother showed no sign of slowing down. Sam heaved an exasperated sigh—he was an expert at those—and went back to the motel to do more research.

Dean and Jo wandered in just after dusk. Jo's face was flushed and Dean looked pleased with himself. The tips of their fingers were touching—it was as though each of them craved physical contact, but neither one wanted to commit to the image of holding hands.

Sam just shook his head and told them he thought he had found the demon—signs were cropping up in Sante Fe and they could make it there if they hurried. Dean flopped on the bed, and chucked a pillow at his brother.

He said they better get some sleep if they're going to high tail it to New Mexico tomorrow. He looked at Jo and asked if it was necessary to flip a coin for the bed.

Jo looked primmer than Sam would have expected from someone who came in less than an hour ago looking so disheveled and reminded Dean to behave. Sam just shook his head and turned out the lights.


	2. Shotgun Shuts Her Cakehole

Shotgun Shuts Her Cake-hole  
Theme: #14 radio-cassette player  
Disclaimer: It's Kripke's sandbox; they're not mine :)  
Summary: "This," Dean said, gently waving a cassette tape in front of Jo's face, "is music."

* * *

"What did I say about REO Speedwagon?" 

Jo smiled and widened her eyes innocently. "That they were poignant and timeless?"

"No, I said that they sucked and I didn't want to listen to them in my damn car." Dean hit the "eject" button with more force than necessary and tossed the cassette at his brother sitting in the back seat. Sam caught it easily.

Jo heaved a sigh—she must have learned that from Sam—and stared out the window. She was waiting for Dean to apologize, but as far as Dean was concerned she could wait forever because it was never going to come. Keeping one hand on the wheel, Dean rummaged through the tapes stashed in the glove compartment with the fake IDs and their Dad's old cell phone.

"This," Dean said, gently waving a cassette tape in front of Jo's face, "is music." He inserted the tape and turned the volume up. Jo rolled her eyes, fighting a smile as AC/DC started pumping out the speakers. When he started thumping the steering wheel and singing along, Jo couldn't stop herself. She leaned over and kissed him quick and soft on his cheek. Dean looked surprised for a second, but he let her lean her head on his shoulder and close her eyes.

Before she drifted off she heard Dean say something to the road. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts her cake-hole, that's all I'm saying."

Jo smiled, and allowed herself to sleep.


	3. Outside of Dreams

Outside of Dreams  
Theme: #6, the space between dream and reality.  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for sexiness

* * *

He only comes to her after dark. When Jo goes to bed and closes her eyes Dean is by her side, holding her, kissing her. It doesn't matter that Jo is in a rundown, one-and-a-half room apartment in Minnesota and Dean is driving down back-roads in the middle of nowhere. He always finds her in the space between dreams and reality.

After Dean saved Jo's life for the third time (or the fourth, she had lost count) he promised that he would call, but she knew him better than that. He would chase after his brother and save the world and she would be left with the memory of his scent and the sound of his voice. It wasn't fair for Dean to have such a hold on Jo when she had none on him.

Her dreams always start the same. Dean grabs her arm and presses her against the wall. Jo sighs and he smirks. He kisses her and she closes her eyes and pretends that he's really with her. Dean slides his hands under Jo's shirt, unhooking her bra with practiced ease and she unbuttons his jeans. When he pushes her down onto the bed she shivers at the contact. His skin is warm and soft and Jo pulls him closer, desperate to feel something besides all-consuming loneliness.

The dream ends much too soon. With a smirk or a smile Dean vanishes in the blink of an eye and Jo is left behind, alone and unsatisfied. When she wakes, Jo stretches her arm across her cold bed—too large for a girl her size. She chokes back tears and hugs her pillow, pretending that it has the arms to hug her back.

Jo hates herself for missing Dean—for loving him even though he doesn't love her back. She hates herself for the way her heart skips whenever her phone rings, even though he's never on the other end. Most of all Jo hates herself for crying as she falls asleep, wishing Dean came to her outside of her dreams.


	4. Lipstick Smudges

Lipstick Smudges  
Theme: 19, red.  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Summary: She didn't expect to want him so badly. Jo realized, at last, why the girls at school wore make-up. They painted their faces because they wanted to be seen—to stand out in the crowd.

* * *

Jo was never one for wearing make-up. She'd never really seen the point. After all, who could she want to impress? Most of the men who tramped through the Roadhouse were at least a decade older than her. When Jo went away for college she thought the boys she met at school would be different—younger, cleaner, more innocent. 

The boys at school would use salt for seasoning their food, not protection from demons. They wouldn't know the proper way to throw a knife or how to aim a shotgun. They probably wouldn't even believe in ghosts.

Jo wore make-up for the boys at school because they were new and exciting. She wore make-up because the other girls did and she was tired of being a freak with a knife collection. Sometimes Jo wondered if that was all she was—a freak, doomed to sit on the outside of normal society. The boys at college didn't understand her and the girls just told her to stop talking about guns and focus on being "girly."

It made Jo want to scream, but she didn't see any other choice. She resigned herself to painting her lips with red and making her eyes appear smoky. She giggled at jokes that weren't really funny and tucked her knife collection under her bed, telling herself to forget about it. It worked for a while—she started getting asked out to second and third dates and her classmates stopped whispering about her. For once she felt like a real teenager; making out in the back seat of a borrowed car as sloppy kisses fogged up the windows.

The only problem was that she wasn't happy.

Jo started unconsciously comparing the boys she met with the men she already knew. Ash is funnier, she would think sourly as her new friends laughed at a dirty joke that wasn't particularly dirty or amusing. Bobby is sweeter, she thought wistfully as one of her admirers clumsily complimented her new dress on their way into the restaurant.

In the end Jo realized that most of boys at school weren't much different than the lecherous old hunters who passed through the Roadhouse. The only difference was that the boys at school used cheap vodka and the latest album by Lenny Kravits to get into her pants instead of a six-pack and Led Zeppelin.

Eventually Jo stopped wearing the make-up her roommate tried to foist on her. A week after that she stopped hiding her knives. After a month of pretending she fit in when she knew that she didn't, Jo left school and moved back to the Roadhouse. Jo figured that she could handle hunters better than horny college boys. At least she could cheat the hunters out of their room money—college boys prefer beer pong to poker. She thought that she had everything figured out, but she could never have predicted Dean Winchester.

Dean first came to the Roadhouse with his brother several months after she had left school. Her mother had sent them after a killer clown and that was that. She didn't expect the two Winchesters to roll back into her life—especially not while she was having a loud, angry argument with her mother. How embarrassing.

She didn't expect to want him so badly. Jo realized, at last, why the girls at school wore make-up. They painted their faces because they wanted to be seen—to stand out in the crowd. They painted their faces because someone made their heart beat just a little faster than normal, because they wanted to be held.

When Jo was packing her bag, intending to follow Sam and Dean to Philadelphia on a job, she found a slender tube of red lipstick hidden in the bottom of a drawer. She grinned and slipped it into her pocket.


	5. Carry Me Home

Carry Me Home  
Theme: #20 the road home  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating: PG-13

* * *

"Are you sure that you're okay?"

Jo's voice was soft. "I said that I was."

Dean sighed, "It's just that… you just don't seem okay."

"Well I am." Her voice was unintentionally sharp. She bit her lip and turned away.

"You don't have to bitch at me; I was just asking."

Jo whispered an apology to the cornfields speeding past.

"What?" She could tell that Dean was getting annoyed.

"I_ said_ that I was _sorry._" Immediately Jo regretted the tone in her voice. Her mother used that tone when her father was still alive. It was the tone of voice that said 'I'm making an effort to be nice, but I'm still pissed at you.' The last time Jo heard her mother use that tone was on her sixth birthday, when her father left her birthday dinner to investigate a Bigfoot sighting. She closed her eyes, remembering the argument that shook the walls of the Roadhouse.

"_It's Jo's birthday—can't this thing wait one day?" Ellen's voice was rising. She knew that her daughter could hear her, but she didn't care._

"_It's already killed three people, Elle. If I wait any longer it'll kill more. I'll be back in a few days." _

_Jo, seated alone at the dinner table, heard the familiar sound of dulled thumps and clanks as Bill packed seven knives, three guns, a case of silver bullets (just in case) and a vial of holy water (because you never know) in his worn leather satchel._

"_Fine." Ellen's voice was cold and her tone was designed to tell Bill that he would have to make it up to Jo for leaving her party. She turned and stormed out of the room, calling to her daughter. "Jo, honey? Jo?"_

"Jo?"

With a start, Jo realized Dean, not her mother, was the one calling her name. "I'm sorry. I was thinking."

Dean tore his eyes away from the road home. "Are you sure you're okay? We don't have to do this, you know. We can call Sammy and make him stop by the Roadhouse. Hell, you can wait in the motel room if you really want."

"I'll have to see her eventually, Dean. Besides, Sam's busy with that spirit in Sante Fe. We can't call him in for everything."

"I know," he said, reaching out and taking her hand in an unexpected gesture of affection. Jo's throat closed up and she squeezed his hand tightly. "Are you—"

"I'm sure, Dean."

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the Roadhouse and cut the engine. He sighed, "Here goes nothing." A heartbeat before they opened the door, Jo pulled Dean close and kissed him hard, desperately. When she pulled away, Dean quirked an eyebrow. "What was that for?"

Jo smiled for the first time that day. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Let's go show your mother that you're still in one piece."


	6. Not a Knight in Shining Armor

Title: "I'm here!"  
Theme: #03, jolt!  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating: PG-13 for language.

Set during No Exit—Dean knows he has to get Jo back from the spirit of H. H. Holmes.

* * *

"Oh God…" Jo's voice was thin over the phone; with a jolt Dean realized she was scared.

"What is it? Jo? Jo!" Her scream told him everything he needed to know. That sick fuck, H. H. Holmes or whoever he was, had taken her. Dean's heart started to beat faster when he remembered that they still had no idea where he was keeping his victims.

The first thought that crossed Dean's mind was "Ellen's going to kill me." Then he remembered the grin on Jo's face when he lied to her mother and the vulnerable look in her eyes when she talked about her father.

His next thought was "I have to get her back."

Dean could never be confused with a knight in shining armor. He wasn't Prince Charming or Prince Valiant. He was just a twisted man—a hunter, like his father. Dean told himself he had to find Jo because of the raw pain he heard in Ellen's voice when she found out that he had lost her only daughter. He told himself it was because Jo was a member of his team, for this job at least, and he couldn't leave her behind.

He told himself that it had nothing to do with the way Jo's hips seemed to be made to fit his hands or the way her kissable lips curved when she teased him. It had nothing to do with the sexy ferocity he saw in her eyes when she told him that she was a little twisted, just like him.

Dean tried to concentrate on the job, as if Jo were any other victim taken by any other spirit, but all he could think about is how scared she must be. He knew it had been a bad idea to allow her to tag along. He should have sent her ass packing as soon as she showed up in Philadelphia and he _never_ should have lied to her mother.

The problem was that sometimes Dean had a hard time remembering that, despite her eagerness and determination, Jo was an amateur. She was about as useful on a hunt as shooting rock salt at an angry bear.

Sam didn't understand the importance. They'd get Jo back—it was what they did. He didn't share Dean's sense of urgency or his mind-numbing worry. He wanted to save Jo, but more than that he wanted to stop the spirit from killing more girls. Dean just wanted to find Jo, to tell her that she was safe and that everything would be all right.

They scoured the sewers for half an hour before they found the hidden web of tunnels the spirit was using to hide his victims. Sam wanted to wait, to pause, to scope out the surroundings and form a game plan, but Dean just shot the spirit and burst through the door.

"Jo?" Dean called, trying not to wonder whether they were too late to save her.

The relief was evident in her voice as she called out to him. "I'm here!"


	7. Strawberry Lollipops

Title: Strawberry Lollipops  
Theme: #23, candy.  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexiness

Can it be? Have I written something over 2000 words? With plot?  
I know. I'm kind of surprised as well.

* * *

Jo thought she knew Dean. She didn't _know_ him, know him; not the way his brother knew him—backwards and forwards and inside out—but Jo thought she had a handle on the way his mind worked. He loved three things: his brother, the Impala and killing evil things ("sons of bitches," he called them and Jo had to smile). He loved Sam and his car and his job, but he didn't love Jo and she had made her peace with that. 

Jo thought she would never be surprised by Dean until the night he showed up in _her_ bar in _her_ city. She was perched on a bar stool, eating a lollipop and taking a break from pouring drinks and fetching beers. Dean walked in and Jo smiled. He smirked and her heart skipped a beat. He sauntered up to her and pulled the lollipop out of her mouth.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jo's voice was sharper than she intended, but he had caught her off-guard.

Dean shrugged, refusing to let her annoyance faze him, and ordered a beer from the bartender on duty. "Sammy and I are on a job," he told Jo, grinning like he knew how he was affecting her. "Why'd you think I was here?"

The problem was that Jo didn't know what she thought anymore. She had a job, a room-and-a-half apartment that was only mildly claustrophobic and she wasn't under her mother's thumb anymore. She was getting better at hunting, too—she hadn't had a near-death experience in almost a month, which was a personal record. She had _just_ gotten herself to completely forget about Dean (well, mostly forget about him). Why did he have to walk into her life again? She wondered if he enjoyed torturing her—she certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"Who knows?" Jo snatched the lollipop from Dean's hands and wrapped her lips around it, raising an eyebrow. When she pulled the lollipop out to speak, her voice was cold. "I'm done trying to understand you."

Dean shrugged again and took a swig from his beer. Jo instinctively knew that he was trying to piss her off. She resisted the urge to spit into his beer bottle when he wasn't looking. "Sam an' me are tracking a werewolf. Have you heard anything?"

"Have I heard anything?" Jo narrowed her eyes. "If anyone's tracking this werewolf, Dean, it's me. Do yourself a favor and get off my turf."

"Did you really just use the word 'turf'?"

"Dean…"

He sighed, "Remember that discussion we had last year? About amateurs?"

He was taunting her—rubbing her inexperience in her face the way he always did. Jo hopped off the stool and drew herself up to her full height. Dean was taller than her by a good six inches, but she set her jaw and stared him down. He felt something stir in his gut—that familiar feeling of arousal—and he wondered whether Jo would slap him if he tried to kiss her. She spoke before he could make up his mind.

"I'm not an amateur. Not anymore, anyway. I've been doing this for almost a year." Dean raised his eyebrows and she flushed. "Fine, I've been doing this for seven months. But I'm getting good at it—I can handle myself."

Dean shook his head. "Not against a werewolf. One wrong move—one bite—and you're gone. There's no coming back from lycanthrope, Jo. Ask Sam about it sometime."

"Where is Sam, by the way?" Jo looked around the crowded bar, "why isn't he with you?"

"He's back at the hotel, doing research."

Jo smirked, "researching werewolves? Even _I_ know how to kill a werewolf, Dean, and I'm an amateur, remember?"

"Yeah, you're real funny. He's researching something else. He doesn't feel up to hunting down the Wolf Man right now. It hits too close to home."

Jo opened her mouth to ask Dean why, but the look on his face warned her that this was Sam's business—a family thing—and that even if she asked he would never tell her. "I guess you'll need a partner on this hunt," she remarked.

Dean saw the direction her mind was taking and spoke quickly. "No," he said firmly, gently placing his beer bottle on the bar. "You're not coming with me. I don't care if you're more experienced than you were back in Philly—you can't face down a werewolf."

"But—"

"No," he said again. "Your mother would kill me if anything happened to you. Seriously, Jo, they'd never find my body." Dean grinned in an attempt to lighten the situation. "And I don't want that on your conscience."

"If I get bitten by the werewolf then I won't care what my conscience has to say."

"It doesn't matter, because you're not coming." Dean drained the rest of his beer, thumped the bottle back onto the bar and turned to leave.With a sinking feeling, Jo realized that he was going to walk out on her again. He'd hunt down her werewolf, climb into his shiny black car and drive off into the sunset like the valiant knight he wasn't. She couldn't allow Dean to leave like that—thinking that he'd won.

"I'm not a child," Jo said, desperate to stop him from walking away. "You can't protect me forever."

Later, when the hunt was over and they were back in the motel room patching themselves up, Dean claimed that he made his move because Jo had been teasing him with the lollipop. Jo retorted that she was eating candy—it wasn't like she was trying to turn him on. "It's just a lollipop for God's sake," she had snapped. "Don't you ever take a break from thinking about sex?"

Sam had stifled a laugh at that, but when his brother shot him an evil look he returned to stitching up Jo's forehead. "Of course I do," Dean had protested. Jo resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

The only thing anyone knew for sure was that one moment Jo and Dean were separate beings holding a staring contest and the next they were one person, attached at the hips and at the mouth. Their hands were everywhere at once and their lips moved with a strange and fierce hunger.

Dean knew that he was being irresponsible, but the only thing that went through his mind was "want," and "now." He forgot that this was Jo. He forgot that Jo was too young, too innocent, too sweet. Dean forgot that he had stepped on her heart more than once and that he had a tendency to leave her in the dust. He even forgot, for a moment, that he had less than a year left before he got sucked down to Hell.

All Dean knew was that Jo tasted like a strawberry lollipop and that her hips jutted out just enough that he could feel the hard curve of bone. Her hair was soft and her breath was coming hard and fast and as long as they were trying to devour each other Dean could forget his crazy, fucked up life.

When the catcalls from the bar's patrons broke through the thick haze Dean created Jo reluctantly pulled away from him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pushing out of his arms. Dean tried to grab her, but she ducked around him and disappeared into the back room of the bar.

He exhaled, "that went... well."

* * *

"You sure you don't want to come with me?" Dean was loading his gun with silver bullets, pretending not to notice Sam's pained silence. Sam was typing on his laptop, pretending not to notice Dean. The older Winchester had found the werewolf's hunting grounds earlier that day. Usually he'd be jumping out of his pants with excitement, but since Madison's death the idea of killing a werewolf just didn't hold the same thrill. All he could remember was the look on her face when she asked Sam to kill her and the tears in his brother's eyes just before he fulfilled her wish. 

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sam didn't even look up from his computer.

Dean nodded once, deciding not to press the issue. "See ya, Sammy. Don't stay up too late, now," Dean winked, walking out of the motel room. The sun was setting and the intensity of the light made him squint. He stopped short when he saw small blonde leaning against the passenger side of his car. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Without preamble, Jo handed Dean a folder. "I've been tracking this werewolf for two months—unlike you, I know this thing backwards and forwards. I can help."

Dean shook his head and walked around the side of the car. "Like you helped us in Philadelphia? I don't think so. I can handle this, Jo, so just back off."

"Would it kill you to give me a chance?"

Dean paused to think. "Mm, probably. Go hang out with Sammy. Help him do his research or something—I can handle this."

Jo set her jaw and climbed into the Impala's passenger side. Dean swore loudly and banged on the window. When she refused to budge, he gave up and slammed into his car. "If you get bitten, I won't hesitate, understand?" His voice was low and Jo shivered at the raw fury. "I will put a bullet in your chest-plate and I'll tell your mother it was because you were stupid enough to go up against a werewolf. Understand?" Jo nodded silently. Dean sighed and glared at her for a moment before he started the ignition.

"We're going to—"

"I know where we're going."

Jo summed up the case for Dean as they drove toward a gated community in the suburbs—the creature's hunting grounds. "His name is Eric Collier and he runs a car dealership in the suburbs," she said, digging through the folder in her lap. "He lives in Briarwood Village, a gated community outside Duluth. About three months ago he reported a dog bite. Animal Control searched for the stray, but it was never found."

"So maybe he just got on the wrong side of a mean dog."

Jo shook her head. "I swiped the medical report and it turns out the bite was significantly larger than an ordinary dog bite. The doctor questioned whether it was actually a dog or if a wolf escaped from a wildlife preserve or something."

"How many people has he killed?"

"Three people, four cats and a dog." Jo answered promptly. "They all live in Collier's gated community and they were all attacked in or around the property. Nobody's reported any animal bites since Collier, so I think he's working alone."

"What was his connection to the three human victims?"

"None, besides the fact that they all lived in the same neighborhood. I mean… they weren't his family or his friends or anything."

"How do you know all this?"

Jo grinned, "Because I'm Joanna Cronin, Eric Collier's new personal assistant."

Dean groaned, "Jo, when are you going to learn not to involve yourself with the creatures you're hunting?"

"I… I wasn't. I had to get close enough to see whether he was the werewolf… I mean, after the dog bite and the attacks in his neighborhood I was pretty sure it was him, but I wanted to be positive."

"So you follow him or set up a stakeout. God, Jo, you can't just walk up and introduce yourself!" Dean shook his head, "why don't you just stand in the middle of the street and shout 'here I am, wolfie! Eat me, eat me!'"

"That's not—I didn't—" Tears pricked in the back of Jo's eyes and she hated herself for them. "Dean…"

"Just forget it, we're here."

Jo nodded silently and took a deep breath. They climbed out of the car and Jo continued her debriefing in a whisper. "The consensus of the community is that wolves or mountain lions have escaped from a zoo or something. So far there haven't been any overexcited teenagers to cry werewolf."

Dean smirked, "no one except for us," he whispered. "So what's the plan? Stakeout Collier's house until he starts his killing spree? Or would you rather ring his doorbell and get invited in for tea and cookies?"

"Look, I got the information we needed, didn't I?" Jo whispered fiercely, narrowing her eyes. "I figured why do I need to sneak around when I can just talk to him directly?"

"Because that's how amateurs get killed, Jo. He knows your name, he knows what you look like and he knows your scent. You might even be his next target. Did you ever think about that?" He shook his head—her silence was enough. "Forget it. I knew this was a bad idea."

Jo heaved a sigh and started to argue her point (again) when a sharp howl pierced the night. "Shit," Jo whispered as her heart started to race. "Shit, why didn't we hear the window glass break?"

Dean gestured for her to stay behind him. "Maybe he left one open," he suggested in a low voice. "It is pretty warm outside. Stay quiet or we'll attract his attention." He turned to face her. "Are you ready? It's now or never. You can sit this one out if you want—you can wait in the car."

Jo nodded and gulped and silently took out her gun. "I'm ready," she told him quietly. Her voice trembled, but her eyes glowed with resolve and Dean believed her.

* * *

Three hours later Jo and Dean rolled into the motel room, bloody, dirty and victorious. Jo sported a cut—deep enough for stitches—over one eye and Dean's parting gifts were a dislocated shoulder and a gash across his leg. Both of them looked like they had come off badly from a fight with a muddy pig in a briar patch. Sam shook his head and gestured his older brother over to sit next to him. 

"Want me to fix your shoulder?" Dean stifled his grunt of pain as Sam popped his shoulder back in place with practiced ease. Jo, dabbing at the bleeding cut on her forehead, asked the boys whether they had any sutures. As he rummaged through their dad's old first aid kit, looking for stitches, antiseptic and bandages, Sam asked how the hunt went.

Jo grinned, "We got the bastard," she cried in delight, flopping on the bed, head wound forgotten.

"Don't bleed on the goddamn sheets." Dean's voice was tired as he clutched his newly relocated shoulder.

Jo scowled, "Dean's just pissed because I was the one who shoot the werewolf." Closing her eyes, she raised her eyebrows and winced as the movement stretched her cut. "Not bad for an amateur, huh?" 

She could hear the grin in Dean's voice as he replied. "No, I guess it's not bad for an amateur." Jo felt rough, calloused fingers slide through hers, gripping her hand tightly. "Come on, demon slayer; let's get you fixed up."


	8. Mistake

Mistake  
30 kisses theme: #28 Calcium pill  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating: PG-13 

Special thanks to my beta/best friend Elspeth for reminding me that Sam wouldn't use the phrase "bun in the oven," even if he_ were_ mocking Jo.  
Also: I blame 'Juno,' which, by the way, was a great movie, so you should probably see it :)

* * *

Jo didn't even want to admit to Dean that she took the test, let alone tell him it was positive. She though it was amazing that a little blue line could say so much. It rebuked her for loving Dean, for being careless. She didn't want to tell him the news, but what else could she do? Dean was thick, but not _that _thick. As soon as he saw her he would notice the swelling ankles, the growing stomach, the bigger boobs. After Ellen had finished lecturing Jo for being foolish ("Joanna Beth, what were you thinking?"), she had laughed long and loud at the image of her tiny daughter swollen with a baby.

Maybe he wouldn't have to know. Jo didn't _have _ to tell him, did she? She could vanish in the middle of the night; she could leave her mother and the new Roadhouse and Dean would never have to know she was having a baby—his baby. All she had to do was hold off for eight months. In eight months the baby would be three months old and it would be pointless to tell Dean anyway because of that deal he made at the crossroads.

Jo should have turned him away when he showed up at her door in Duluth. She should have, but she didn't. Dean told her that Sam had died and he made a deal to bring him back. He told her he would be gone in a year and he would be dragged down to hell by demon dogs. Jo should have pushed him out the door, called him a selfish bastard and shut him out of her life once and for all.

The problem was that Jo wasn't strong enough to push him away, so she pulled him into her one-and-a-half room apartment overlooking a struggling rock garden. Jo pulled him into a kiss, into her bed, and the next morning she realized that she wouldn't have to push Dean out of her life—he left, the way he always did. She realized the next morning that she wouldn't have to push Dean out of her life—he left, the way he always did. Jo realized that she was just number one on a list of conquests (surely Dean Winchester had the name and number of half the cocktail waitresses from here to New Mexico) before his time expired.

It would be cruel to tell him, she decided. Cruel to remind him that other people had normal lives—families and homes and children—and that he couldn't be a part of it. Her mother disagreed. "It's bad enough you're going to raise this child without a father, do you want Dean to die like that? Thinking that nothing he did will last?"

She had turned her pick-up truck around twice on her way to South Dakota (Ellen had called Sam to casually asked where they were and whether they would be in Nebraska any time soon). They were in a small town near the border of Montana wrapping up a job—a poltergeist was terrorizing the local middle school. She watched them from a distance, trying not to draw their attention her way. She saw Dean talking to the locals and Sam doing research at the library. She tried not to imagine herself fitting into their lives. What would she do? Puke in the rose bushes outside their motel, probably.

Sam noticed her first. He was crossing the street and he saw her leaning against her truck. "Jo!" He called, "Jo, what are you doing here?" He pulled her into a quick hug, frowning in confusion when he saw her belly. "What's, uh, new?"

Jo tried not to smile as Sam tried to be tactful. "Besides being pregnant? Not much, actually. Where's Dean?"

"He's getting supplies. We have to purify a school and expel a nasty poltergeist. Why?" Sam looked thoughtful, smirking, "did you need to tell him something?"

Jo made a face. She forgot that Sam was so perceptive. "I was just wondering."

Sam grinned at her the way he used to and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Come back to the motel room with me—we can wait for him there."

The rest of the day crawled by like an old man trying to climb a flight of stairs. Until Dean came back there was nothing much Jo could do. Sam made himself useful by scouring the newspaper for their next job, but Jo spent the time contemplating the probability of whether she could actually _die_ of boredom.

She sat on the bed for a couple minutes, bouncing up and down. This reminded her of the activity that got her into the state she was in, so she sighed and started pacing the room. That attracted Sam's attention—once or twice he opened his mouth as though he wanted to speak, so Jo plopped into a chair and started drumming her fingers on the end table.

Dean interrupted them half an hour later. He banged into the motel room clutching a bag of supplies for the cleansing ritual in one hand and a Styrofoam container in the other. "God, Sammy, we're really in the middle of nowhere. I had to drive for an _hour_ to find this stuff for purification. But hey," he grinned, "I got some—Jo." He stared at her in blank confusion. "What are you doing here? Is Ellen okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She got the new Roadhouse up and running, so she's got her hands full, but she loves it."

Dean was staring at her—at her stomach and her breasts—and she blushed under his gaze. "You're pregnant?" His voice was soft and Jo wondered whether she would even have to tell Dean that the baby was his. Maybe he knew anyway.

Sam spoke before Jo could reply. "I'm going to go to the diner, grab something to eat." Dean missed Sam's wink as he slipped out the door, but Jo didn't. She sighed for the tenth time that day.

Dean shrugged and flopped on the bed. "I got chili fries—want some?" Jo couldn't help but smile as Dean popped open the Styrofoam box and held the steaming fries out to her. He was in a good mood, which would help. She started to speak, but the smell—a combination of chili powder and cheddar cheese—suddenly made her gag. Dean watched, startled, as Jo vaulted off the chair and hurtled into the bathroom.

"Jo?" He asked, trying to ignore the retching sounds she was emitting. "Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," she called, somewhat unconvincingly.

In an effort to give her some privacy, Dean leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door, waiting for her to emerge. Jo washed her hands and face with composure she didn't feel and stepped out of the bathroom. She tried to grin. "I think this is one of the occupational hazards of being pregnant. It's not so bad, not anymore, but some things still set it off."

"Like the smell of chili fries?"

"How can you even _eat_ those?"

Dean didn't return her smile. He looked nervous and Jo held her breath. "Uh, Jo?"

She exhaled, "yeah?"

"It's not… is it mine?"

Jo started to speak—she didn't know whether she was about to deny his question or confirm it—but Dean shook his head as though he already knew the answer. "I thought we were careful," he whispered. Jo knew what he meant. Bringing a baby into the world wasn't exactly part of Dean's plan. He wouldn't even make it past their kid's three-month birthday—the hellhounds would have dragged him away by then.

"We _were_ careful," she said, "but shit happens anyway." As soon as the words left her mouth, Jo wished she could take them back. "I mean… nothing's one hundred percent, you know?"

Dean nodded, "yeah, I know." Jo reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away and grabbed his coat. Without another word, he walked out of the motel room, leaving Jo alone again. She sat down on the bed and buried her face in her hands, hating herself for loving Dean when he didn't care about her. It wasn't _fair_, but neither was life.

Tears rose in Jo's throat—little girl tears, like the ones she used to cry when she had fallen out of a tree and skinned her elbow. She wished her life were simple, like the way it was before her father died. She wished that she didn't care for Dean, that she wasn't carrying his kid, that she could have a normal life with a normal boy.

Dean came back several hours later, closing the motel room door softly to avoid disturbing her. Jo was lying on her side; facing away from the door and pretending to sleep. He sat next too her and the bed groaned under the extra weight. She heard the rustle of a plastic bag and his voice, soft and pleading.

"I got you some calcium pills. I guess you need a prescription for those… pregnancy vitamins or something, but I figured…" he sighed. "You never drank a lot of milk."

She sat up and hugged him tightly, thanking him without words. In that moment she knew that she would never be satisfied with a normal life or a normal boy. She knew that she would rather die than let Dean get sucked down to hell and she didn't want to raise their child alone. Jo was afraid that if Dean left her for good—left the earth, left their kid, left his brother—that she would lose part of herself. She had to help him live.

Sam protested, like she knew he would. He worried about her condition and fussed about what Ellen would say and how angry Dean would be if he found out Jo was helping Sam, but in the end he agreed to let her help (covertly) weasel Dean out of his deal.

After all, Sam knew what it was like to be lost without Dean Winchester.


	9. Shotguns and Rock Salt

The Night He Dreamed of Shotguns and Salt  
Theme: #22 Cradle  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)  
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for minor language.

* * *

Jo avoided naming the baby for as long as possible. "It's bad luck," she insisted whenever Dean raised the issue. "We'll name the baby when it comes out and we have the chance to see what he… she… is like."

They fought a lot during her pregnancy. They argued about the color of the nursery—Dean wanted to paint the walls green and Jo insisted on yellow. They had a particularly nasty blowout when Jo suggested that they should invest in childproof cabinet handles. Dean dragged his heels. "Sammy grew up just fine without childproofing anything," he insisted.

"That's because John didn't understand how to raise children," Jo muttered.

"What was that?" Dean snapped.

Jo just shrugged innocently and dipped her paintbrush back into the pail of yellow paint.

They were even arguing as her water broke. Dean had gotten a job—a mechanic, just like his father—when Jo told him she was pregnant. Jo wanted Dean to give up hunting—to settle down like Sam: a normal job to go with a normal life. Jo knew what it was like to grow up hearing everything hidden in code. She didn't want to be alone like her mother. She didn't want her kid to grow up without a father. Dean argued that hunting was the only thing he had ever known and he didn't want to abandon it.

He was still shouting at her when Jo's face crumpled and she looked down at her feet. "Um, Dean?"

"What?" He snapped, pouring a shot of whiskey.

"I think my water just broke," she whispered, trying to disguise the fear in her voice. He craned his head to look at her feet and his face paled.

"Uh, right. Right." He looked scared; Jo would have laughed if she weren't so terrified. Dean knocked back the shot with shaking fingers, "what should we do?"

"Just grab the bag we packed and a couple towels. I'll meet you by the car."

"Towels?"

"Well you don't want me messing up the Impala, do you?"

Dean kissed her quickly and rushed into the bedroom to get the bag. Jo waddled out the door, dialing Sam's number on her cell phone. "Sam? It's Jo." She groaned softly as the first contractions started. "Am I all right? I'm about to push a human being out of my body, what do you think?" She sighed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap." She smiled at Dean, who was rushing out of their duplex with the bag and towels. "Yeah, can you meet us at the hospital?" Dean helped her into the car with more care than he had ever shown before. "See you there, Sam."

Dean broke all the speed limits on the way to the hospital.

* * *

Dean and Sam discussed names with the other proud dads and uncles standing outside the glass nursery. Dean suggested John for their father and William for Jo's. Sam raised his eyebrows. "John William? Like the guy who wrote the theme music for Jaws?"

Dean made a face, but reversed the names anyway. "What about William John?"

Sam grinned, "I think Jo would like that." And she did.

* * *

The first time Dean woke up alone, a couple weeks after Will was born, he was worried. Jo's side of the bed was empty; it was still warm, but cooling quickly. He slipped out silently and searched their tiny half of the duplex. Jo was in the kid's room, watching him sleep. Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his cheek against her head. He could feel her smile when she whispered, "he's so small." She sounded confused, like she was wondering how two fuck-ups like them could create something new and pure.

He woke up alone often. His heart would skip a beat whenever he saw that Jo's side of the bed was empty, but he relaxed when he could hear her through the thin walls of their apartment. She was singing lullabies, soft and off-key, to the baby.

Dean loved Jo's sense of wonder. He loved the way she loved Will. He came home from work every night stinking of grease and sweat, but she hugged him close and whispered news in his ear. "He smells like baby powder," she told him, and "he smiled at me today."

* * *

Jo didn't realize Will's six-month birthday was so close until she glanced up at the calendar and saw the date circled in red, like an omen. "Will 6 mo." it said in Dean's cramped, childlike handwriting. The Demon had been dead for three years, but Dean didn't want to take any chances. This was his son—his flesh and blood, his name and his legacy—he didn't want him to grow up the way Sammy did. He didn't want Jo to die in flames, pinned to the ceiling of the nursery.

Dean half expected Jo to argue with him, to remind him that Azazel was gone and he wouldn't hurt them anymore. She just kissed his cheek softly, unlocked the chest at the foot of their bed and removed two shotguns and a sack of rock salt. Sam offered an extra pair of eyes to stay with them, but Dean waved away his brother's suggestion. "We can handle it Sammy. Go on home and get some rest."

Jo poured a circle of salt around Will's cradle and sat a vigil with Dean—protecting their son from demons and fire and death.

That night, William John Winchester dreamed of shotguns and rock salt.


	10. Ten Ways to Kiss

Ten Ways to Kiss

Written for the 30kisses challenge on livejournal. Prompt 10: #10  
Rating/Warnings: Rated PG-13 for "sensuality" or whatever the MPAA calls it. Spoilers through the beginning of season 4.

Note: Each situation shows a different relationship that Dean and Jo might have had. They aren't meant to be read serially; each kiss stands alone.

* * *

1. Passion

Jo never understood the point of passion. Desire was messy enough without dealing with a complicated thing like passion. She thought that Dean--cocktail waitress in every state Dean--would agree. She thought that he would understand that passion lead to strings and strings lead to expectations. Expectations lead to disappointments and then no one is happy. Dean, however, feels differently. He knows that he can't give Jo forever, but he can give her something else. Dean kisses Jo with a passion that doesn't involve strings, expectations or disappointments.

2. Fear  
Growing up, Jo never understood why her mother was afraid when her father went on a hunting trip. All Jo saw was a father who went on adventures--a father who was tough and strong. She never thought about the possibility that her father would never come back until, one day, he didn't.

Jo never thought she would love someone as much as she loved her father. She never thought she would worry as much as her mother did. She never thought about much of anything, until she met Dean. Now all she can do is sit back and wait while he fights the evil that lurks in the dark. Jo kisses Dean with fear, hoping against hope that he'll return to her.

3. Fantasy  
Dean fantasizes about lots of things. Jenna Jamison, chocolate sauce, hand cuffs. He fantasizes about saving some pretty young thing from a demon. He fantasizes about her grateful, sensual, response. Sometimes, in the dark, he fantasizes about Jo. He imagines how her hands would feel on his chest, how her long, pale hair would look, falling over her shoulders. Dean imagines how Jo would kiss--sweetly, with a smile, or boldly, with teeth and tongue. Dean fantasizes about lots of things, but the tiny, blonde hunter is his favorite.

4. Forgiveness  
Dean and Jo fight a lot--they're both too cocky, too stubborn, too similar. It all starts when Dean says something insensitive like, "Why are you wearing _that_ shirt? Do you want frat boys looking at your boobs all night?" Jo counters with something sarcastic: "Well _someone_ has to win a pool game," and they're off, like a day at the races. Dean takes the lead with a cheap shot at Jo's ancestry, but Jo pulls forward with a strong curse. Dean catches up by ordering Jo to change her clothes, but Jo sprints toward the finish line as she slaps Dean across the face and stalks out of the room.

Dean doesn't want to be the first to ask for forgiveness and Jo doesn't want to be the first to admit she was wrong. They decide, almost at once, to forget the fight ever happened. They channel the energy into ferocious sex (they don't make love, not when they're this angry). Jo and Dean kiss each other with forgiveness--it's the only way they ever apologize.

5. Hesitant  
Their first kiss was hesitant. Dean was afraid of Jo's mother--scared that when he broke Jo's heart (because he'll break it someday), Ellen would shoot off his balls with the rifle she kept over the doorframe. Jo wasn't afraid of her mother, she was just afraid of Dean. She was scared that she would wake up in the morning and find Dean gone or dead or just not interested anymore. Jo was scared about her future and Dean was scared not to give her one, but their lips met in the end--sweet, shy and a little too eager, but fitting nonetheless.

6. Anger  
Dean is hot and fast and loud--revved up, like an engine that needs to be replaced. Jo is quieter, but she has a temper that Dean loves to provoke. He loves to make her shout, loves the fire in her eyes and the anger in her voice. He loves to interrupt her, mid-curse, with a fierce kiss. But most of all he loves the way Jo is revved up, just like him. The sex is fast and rough--too much taking and not enough giving back--but it suits him and he suits her and that's all that matters. Jo kisses Dean with anger, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

7. Drunk  
Dean loves to get plastered after a hunt that ends well. It's partially a celebration and partially a way to numb the awareness that he killed something that night. Dean gets drunk and Jo gets amused by his fumbling advances. She thinks it's fitting that Dean, of all people, should be able to operate while drunk (and she's not talking about cars). Dean kisses Jo drunkenly, with the taste of tequila still on his tongue.

8. Adoration  
Dean can't get enough of Jo. He loves to worship her body with his mouth and his hands. He loves her hipbones--the way they jut out, hard and firm. He loves her pale golden hair, he loves the way her lips curve into a smile, the way her breasts fit perfectly in his palm, he loves her and she loves the way he loves her. Dean kisses Jo with an adoration that makes her heart pound, her breath catch and her eyes grow wide with wonder.

9. Lingering  
Jo tries not to hate Dean for making a deal with the devil. She supposes that if she had a sister, she would behave the same way. Jo tries not to hate Dean, but she finds that she does anyway. She hates him because he's abandoning his brother to a losing war, because he's selfish. But most of all, Jo hates Dean because he put his brother first, himself second and her third. Again. Dean tries to coax Jo into a forgiving mood, but she drags her heels until he snaps at her. He reminds her that this is his last day on earth. "I don't want to go out like this," he whispers, wrapping his arms around her waist. Jo kisses Dean with lingering sadness, knowing that she'll probably never see him again.

10. Love  
A year and four months after the deal Dean made at the crossroads, he clawed his way out of the earth, gasping, with the imprint of an angel's hand burned into his shoulder. Dean goes to see Sam first, because Sam will always be first, but he finds his way to Jo in the end. Jo doesn't know whether she wants to slap him for being a selfish, stupid moron or kiss him senseless. Dean, as though he can read her mind, makes the choice for her. Dean kisses Jo with love, soft and sweet, and she thanks all the powers in heaven and on earth that he found a way to return to her.


	11. Waging War

Waging War  
30 kisses, #25 Fence.

Disclaimer: Not mine :)

Rating/Warnings: Spoilers through 2x21, "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1."

* * *

Dean was never one for domesticity. The idea was nice--playing footsies with his girl while they read the paper--but he knew that sooner or later he would get restless. Dean wanted to travel. He wanted to kill demons and live on the road with his geek brother. He didn't want to be tied down by a house, two kids and a dog.

Much as she tried to deny it, Jo was a white picket fence girl. She loved the thrill of the chase, but at the end of the day she wanted a house--not a motel room. She wanted to be able to sleep without a knife under her pillow, a rifle over the doorframe and a line of salt across the floor. Hell, she wanted to have kids, guest plates made out of china and a career that didn't require knowing how to wash blood out of your shirt. Jo's fantasy world lasted until the Roadhouse burned to the ground, taking half a dozen hunters and Ash--her genius, her friend--with it.

Bobby called to give her the news. He spoke quietly, asked if she was feeling all right and if she wanted to speak with her mother. Jo said yes, because what else could she say? She told Ellen that it wasn't her fault, that Jo was glad she was okay. Her words sounded empty and insincere. That was when Jo realized that she couldn't just duck out of her life as a hunter. War had been waged, simple as that, and Jo couldn't back down. She wouldn't back down.

Dean didn't expect Jo to show up, guns blazing, intent on fighting alongside him. He didn't expect her to show up, but he didn't turn her away. It was a war, after all--he needed to find Sam and kill the demon and he needed all the help he could get. Even if help came in the shape of a pretty, blonde amateur who attracted trouble. Besides, Dean would never admit it, but he liked having someone fight Bobby for shotgun and pout when he overruled her music choices. He liked having someone to kiss good morning--someone to take his mind off the fact that Sam was gone, that it was Dean's fault, and that his geek brother might never come back.

Jo wanted a white picked fence, but she could sacrifice that for Dean. She wouldn't mind cheap motel rooms if Dean slept beside her. Dean could be her home. Dean could be her protection. Jo loved Dean, but the look in his eye when she hooked her arm through his as they stood beside his brother's lifeless body scared her. She knew that a normal life played second fiddle. It was a war, after all.


End file.
